It was a hot day in mid-summer as my wife and I were coming home from the store.
As we were living in this wonderful world of alcoholism and dysfunctionality, there was a heated argument in the car on the way home.
At this time I had about one and a half years of sobriety under my belt.
Every week I attended a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous in our little town of Walworth.
I chose this group as my home group as it was the only one I could get to independently, since I am totally physically blind.
Every Tuesday night, I would be there early to make sure the coffee was made and to help set up the tables and chairs.
This setting was very important, as it helped save my life and contributed to my recovery from our dreaded disease.
This story is, in part, about this particular AA meeting.
Besides greeting, making coffee, and helping set up the meeting, I wanted more — just like any good alcoholic.
From time to time, I helped pass out readings for selected members to read such as “How It Works,” the “Twelve Steps,” and so on.
I had done about every job at my home group except reading the material myself before the meeting.
So, having the Big Book on tape, I placed my tape player in the middle of Chapter 5 next to our typewriter and began listening and typing the Twelve Steps over and over again.
I figured this would be the best way to memorize them so that if someone asked me, even jokingly, I could say, “Sure, give me the Twelve Steps and I’ll read them.”
At this time I had plenty of practice, but I hadn’t yet had the opportunity.
Now back to the heated car ride home.
We were both angry over whatever it was that day.
We pulled up to the barn, got out, and nearly slammed the doors.
She went toward the house, quite a distance away, and I went to feed and water the chickens.
We had twenty chickens — twelve black and eight white — in a coop about ten by ten in size.
In front of the coop was a small opening just big enough for a chicken to fit through, leading to an enclosed chicken-wire area about the same size.
I opened the big door quickly and rushed in with the water and feed so the chickens wouldn’t escape.
When I slammed the door, I forgot that I had installed a new hasp the day before. It swung shut without my realizing it.
After weaving through the chickens and finishing the feeding and watering, I went to leave — and discovered I was trapped.
I called for my wife, but soon realized the house was too far away.
I began learning things very rapidly.
The first lesson was surrender.
I had very little sight at this point — only shapes of movement — but in my imagination I could see all the chickens staring at me.
I sat down on a bale of hay and placed another in front of my legs so they wouldn’t peck me.
After some time, and assuming my wife was still angry, I began reciting the Serenity Prayer to the chickens.
They didn’t seem to care much, but after repeating it several times, my perspective changed.
I realized I wouldn’t be there forever. I had water if I needed it, and at least there would be eggs in the morning.
Since I might be there a while, I decided to practice reading the Twelve Steps out loud to my attentive audience.
I read through them several times. At some steps, the chickens balked. I decided they must be alcoholic chickens.
Before long, my brother Ken unknowingly saved the day.
He called the house asking for me, so my wife had to come looking.
I never knew for sure, but I think she was pretty happy I had been locked up for a while.